


Pressing Lidless Eyes

by Cerberusia



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Denial, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: I saw Nico immediately: his was the only occupied bed, right at the back of the cabin. The decor was pretty minimal - lots of black, a couple of animal skulls with massive horns that looked like they might have once belonged to something that breathed fire. But I didn't get chance to admire it, because I was floating towards Nico's bed like a camera dollying in.





	Pressing Lidless Eyes

You know when you have those weird dreams where you're just floating and watching whatever crazy stuff your brain's putting on, like the audience at the movie theatre? For you they're probably not a big deal, but I always dread them because I _know_ that they won't be ordinary dreams.

I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything: they've been helpful in the past, like when I saw all that stuff with Grover and Annabeth. Suddenly seeing what's going on with your mysteriously lost friends is definitely better than not knowing. But this one was super weird, because no one was mysteriously lost or in terrible danger or anything. It was just about Nico, a few yards away in Hades cabin. And in the cold light of day, it was _kind_ of embarrassing.

To start with, I went to bed early. I'd done sword practice with Annabeth nearly all afternoon, and however much I loved it and have pretty serious stamina, there's only so long even a teenaged half-blood can swing a heavy sword like Riptide around without getting tired. And Annabeth doesn't just come in swinging: like any child of Athena, she _strategises_. If you fight Annabeth you have to use your brain as much as your body, which makes it twice as tiring. (Annabeth says that's just because I have a head full of kelp, but she has an unfair advantage).

Dinner was pretty quiet, as camp dinners go. We were all still recovering from having beat the Titans in Manhattan, only two weeks ago. We'd passed the celebratory period and now everyone wanted to keep it low-key, the deaths of friends weighing heavily on our minds. No doubt by the end of the summer it would ramp up again.

I kept my friends close, more grateful than ever to have them, and conscious of the ones we'd never see again. We had to eat at separate tables, of course, but I still caught Annabeth's eye and Grover's, and sat with them at the campfire. We chatted about nothing, really - just little things, stuff that wasn't important. It was a relief after months of nothing but serious conversations about the fate of the world.

Across the campfire, I caught Nico's eye. He was watching us, but when I motioned for him to come over, he shook his head and slipped away. Maybe he was tired still - he always looked it - but it looked more like he was avoiding me. I tried not to feel hurt: Nico had kept to himself ever since his sister's death. He didn't _have_ to come and bond with us if he didn't want to, even if we all agreed it would do him good.

By this time, sword practice and warmth and having a full stomach had taken their toll on me - and by the looks of things a few others around the fire. So I said my goodnights, cleaned my teeth, got into my pajamas, and basically collapsed into bed. I felt sore in ways I couldn't quite identify. It was probably my brain, I decided, then promptly fell asleep.

And I dreamed. Not right away, I think, but probably pretty soon after, since Nico was still awake. Though he _was_ a total insomniac, so come to think of it it could have been well after midnight. Anyway, there I was, floating next to my bed. I floated through my cabin and out of the door without actually opening it or touching anything. You can do that kind of stuff in dreams.

But it had the kind of detail and the strange prickling at the back of my neck that told me that this wasn't an ordinary dream. I floated, removed from it all like I was watching it through a movie camera, but I noticed all the stuff that you just gloss over in dreams. Like owls hooting in the trees and a discarded s'mores stick next to the remains of the bonfire.

It was like those dreams I used to have during quests, but instead of the urgent opening _in media res_ , this leisurely floating through the camp was peaceful; like it was working up anticipation, but for something nice.

I slipped past the cabins - not through them, thank the gods, because there are some things I _never_ want to see and Clarisse in her pajamas is one of them - until I came to the door of Hades cabin. Without opening the door, I went in.

I saw Nico immediately: his was the only occupied bed, right at the back of the cabin. The decor was pretty minimal - lots of black, a couple of animal skulls with massive horns that looked like they might have once belonged to something that breathed fire. But I didn't get chance to admire it, because I was floating towards Nico's bed like a camera dollying in.

He was lying on his back but with his legs to one side, the covers kicked off. Well, it was a hot summer night, though even my dream-self felt the slight but permanent chill in Hades cabin. He wasn't wearing a shirt - nor was I; see earlier comment about the weather - and I could see his ribs when he breathed in. His skin was pale in the moonlight. I remembered that he'd been olive-skinned as a kid - well, he was Italian - and I wondered whether he'd regain his colour if we made him sit in the sun for long enough.

He put his hand between his legs, casually enough that I didn't realise what he was doing for a moment. Then he closed his eyes and his hand started moving, and I figured it out pretty quick.

If I'd been actually there, like in body, I would have shot out of there like my ass was on fire. Yeah, we all did it, but that was _private_ , and Nico didn't strike me as the kind of guy who'd just laugh off being peeped on.

But it was a dream, so I didn't feel any of that: I just felt kind of interested. Was he going to take his pants off, or just do it through clothing the whole time? I guessed it must be some guys' thing, though to me it just sounded like a recipe for chafing.

Maybe it did to Nico as well, because after a minute of squeezing and rubbing he wriggled his pants down to his knees. Again: awake, I'd have been at least politely averting my eyes. Getting an eyeful of some guy's morning wood in the boys' shower block was kind of inevitable, and there was the occasional dirty joke or comment about putting someone's eye out, but we all knew the guy code dictated not staring.

But in the dream - that was only kind of a dream, but I wasn't in control so it totally counted - I was still incapable of embarrassment. Instead, I was interested in his dick.

Now, I know what you're thinking. But listen to me: all boys are interested in other guy's dicks. We know what our own dick looks like, and we want to know how it measures up to others. It's like I thought girls were about breasts, until Annabeth told me they weren't, which sadly torpedoed a lot of my favourite fantasies.

So yeah, I wanted to see this guy's dick. And I did, though he rolled over onto his side so all I could see was the head. It was fine - not big, not small, and most importantly not bigger than mine - but it didn't look like mine, and it took me a long minute to realise that he wasn't cut. Maybe they didn't do that in Europe. Come to think of it, why did we all do it in America? I knew pretty much all the other guys I'd seen were cut.

I watched him close his eyes and move his hand, his eyelashes fluttering occasionally. Without me noticing, the camera had tilted and zoomed in, so I was now technically hovering over him. I could hear his breathing and the rustling as his legs rubbed against the sheets - and the steady _shh-shh_ noise of jerking off. His free hand kept clutching fitfully at his hair.

I don't know how to put this, exactly, but basically: I liked watching him. I liked that he didn't know he was being watched so he wasn't self-conscious, and I liked that he was enjoying himself. Even now he seemed withdrawn a lot of the time, not completely comfortable around me or our friends, and when I watched his face scrunch up in pleasure I felt - connected to him, somehow. Like I was sharing something with him. Like he was letting me in.

He'd die of mortification if he knew I was there, of course. Or maybe have skeletons rip me to shreds first. I knew that: the thought floated across my mind, and made absolutely no impact. I didn't feel like I was violating his privacy, even though I guess I technically was. I just felt curious.

Suddenly, he bit his lip hard and took a harsh breath through his nose. His hand sped up and he rocked his hips into it. He twisted on the bed, his ribs catching the moonlight, and I knew what was about to happen when he pulled his hand out of his hair and put it over the head of his dick.

He turned his face into the pillow, as if he were embarrassed, so I didn't get to see his face as he came. But I saw his mouth open, heard him make soft _hah-hah-hah_ noises, and watched as his body tensed up and his dick spat come all over his hand in hard, shuddering pulses.

Now, I don't know about you, but after I've jacked off I feel relaxed and often kind of sleepy - masturbating before bed is like Valium for most teenage boys. If I'd just gotten off as hard as it looked like Nico had, I'd be a boneless puddle on the mattress. But as the dream faded out and consciousness seeped back into my own body, back in my own bed in Poseidon cabin, I didn't think Nico looked relaxed or even relieved: if anything, he looked more miserable than ever. What could make you look like _that_ after an orgasm?

I woke up with these thoughts in my mind, along with a raging boner. I was on my back, the covers kicked down so far they only covered one leg, so I just pushed down my boxers enough to pull out my dick, and got on with getting off. Still half-asleep, I thought of the stifling darkness of Hades cabin and Nico. He clearly preferred to do it curled up on his side, whereas I lay on my back, totally exposed.

I slid my other hand into my underwear and squeezed my balls, opening my legs wider. Had Nico tried this? If not, he was missing out. I made little circles on the mattress with my hips, squirming as orgasm started tightening at the base of my dick. I imagined Nico watching me, using me as an example.

I came all over my stomach, curling up off the bed as the tight hot pleasure exploded over and over. One of the really mundane weirdnesses that came along with being a halfblood was that I came a _lot_. Like, double what a normal boy would. It was kind of sexy to see all that come spurt out of my dick, but also pretty annoying to clean up until I'd mastered liquid manipulation. I guessed Nico would just have to clean up the old-fashioned way. I hoped that was all he was upset about, but I knew it wasn't.

Totally relaxed, I pulled the covers up, rolled over, and went back to sleep. I didn't go back to that weird vision-dream, but images of Nico's face, drawn and tired and somehow hurt, haunted me through the night.


End file.
